Dragonlocked
by Lozilan
Summary: Sherlock has always been a bit strange. John has brought his son over who is convinced that Sherlock is a little bit dragon...
1. Chapter 1

**Dragonlocked **

**(This is a bit of fun based on the brilliant casting for the upcoming movie).**

_**Bilbo was now beginning to feel really uncomfortable. Whenever Smaug`s roving eye, seeking for him in the shadows, flashed across him, he trembled, and an uncountable desire seized hold of him to rush out and reveal himself and tell all the truth to Smaug. In fact he was in grievous danger of coming under the dragon-spell. The Hobbit. **_

**Sometime in the future Future, Baker St. **

**Sherlock was idly plucking at violin strings while looking out of the window through the downpour. He saw a taxi draw up outside and perked up; a case, he wondered? The door opened and the familiar figure of John Watson emerged, carrying his son and struggling with bags as he tried to find his keys to the flat in the rain. Sherlock snorted. He wasn't expecting his friend to come visiting this evening. It was late and there hadn't been any cases to get involved in. Bringing his child at this time of day? There was something here to deduce.**

**Quickly he flew down the stairs and ripped the front door open before John could locate the right key.**

**John looked grateful for help as he handed over a large overnight bag and a small suitcase. **

**Back in the flat, John removed his little son's raincoat and set him on the couch. **

"**Well?" asked Sherlock "why are you here at this hour?"**

"**Just let me get Hamish to bed and I'll explain," John sighed. "Could you act a little pleased to see me? It's been a long day."**

**Sherlock looked at him and narrowed his eyes to slits. "I see," he said. John looked at the carpet in embarrassment for a moment; he knew he was being scrutinised . He finally went to get his boy a drink of milk, hoping against hope there was some in the fridge and not someone's head, possibly half-eaten or something.**

**Sherlock sat down and looked at Hamish Watson, waking up on the settee. "Boy," acknowledged Sherlock. The blond, blue-eyed child looked up and suddenly became frightened. He began to wail as John rushed back and tried to comfort his lad.**

"**What's the matter with him, John?"**

"**Its ok, he just thinks you are ..."**

**Sherlock's green-hued orbs bored into his former flat mate.**

"**Yes?"**

"**Well, he's got the impression that you're a-"**

"**Little** **bit**** dragon," said the child apprehensively, looking at his father. He was clutching a book in his arms. Sherlock looked at John. "I'm what?"**

"**Mummy says," said the boy firmly. **

"**Well actually, she did say you were a little err.. something ..I can't say it in front of Hamish, and a bit of a dragon, that's what I need to talk to you about, but Hamish took it to mean you were, well , part dragon, as in Smaug the dragon in his book."**

**Sherlock's high cheekbones shone in the flickering firelight. He was amused with the comparison. He turned suddenly, his dressing gown whipping behind him, and sat down.**

"**The Hobbit is his bedtime story book; it's the only thing he seems to like at the moment. We are going though a trying time you see, and I thought he would like it, it used to be my favourite book when I was younger." **

"**Trying time?" enquired Sherlock. **

"**Do you want me to read you some of your book, Hamish?" John asked his son, ignoring Sherlock's last remark. The boy nodded. "Seryok too," he stated.**

"**Sherlock will read the dragon's part, and I'll read Bilbo's, ok? Could be scary."**

**The boy shivered in anticipation and nodded as John pulled him onto his knee. "He takes after his father, then," observed Sherlock." You said scary and he loves it!"**

**John kissed his son. "Chip off the old block," he said proudly.**

"**What's my motivation for this part?" asked Sherlock, taking a look at the pages of Hamish's childrens version of The Hobbit.**

"**You are a dragon, you want to eat me." **

…

**The boy listened enraptured as the two men performed the parts of the hobbit and the dragon. Sherlock was masterful; his deep baritone thrilled the boy to the core, and when they finished a chapter, Hamish clamoured for more. John was amazing as the hobbit and his little son clung onto him, following every word. At one point, the kid ran off and hid behind the sofa as Sherlock hissed convincingly at him. **

"**You're not frightened of Sherlock, are you? Because I always get the better of the dragon, don't I?" John laughed.**

"**Do you?" asked Sherlock, looking at him sideways. Hamish nodded.**

**Don't worry; I know how to handle Sherlock even if he is a little bit dragon." **

**At this, Sherlock gave a deep roar which sent Hamish running to the back of the sofa again. He smiled. "I didn't know it was so easy to scare little children." **


	2. Chapter 2

Dragonlocked 2

_And Smaug laughed aloud. He had a wicked and a wily heart, and he knew his guesses were not far out…_

_The Hobbit_

John came down the stairs after tucking Hamish in and kissing him goodnight. Sherlock was curled up on the couch. He was wearing a red-and-gold-patterned dressing gown that gave him an air of ethereal arrogance. Watson moved toward the fire, which burned merrily in the grate. Above on the mantelpiece were a few of the treasured possessions his friend had accumulated over the years: the skull, a silver, jewel-encrusted paper knife stuck in a pile of letters, a Cox's orange pippin; the famous English variety had been dipped in wax to preserve it. He picked up the apple to see the bite in the middle and I and U carved on the other side. These were golden mementos of their time together. The skull had been there before he had joined Sherlock, but he remembered fondly many of the other trinkets as the memories came flooding back. Near the fire was an old crimson Turkish slipper with loose tobacco stuffed in the toe.

John hoped Sherlock hadn't gone back to smoking rollups again. Smoking tobacco was an addiction he had also once succumbed to. It was one of the reasons he was always so dead against his friend continuing to smoke. Like so many others in those days he had started using ridiculously cheap tobacco in the army and following the bad example of some of his men tried mixing it with the local weed. He had to quit, he knew of course the dangers of tobacco and couldn't be a hypocrite to himself. Not only that, the local weed was well known for addling the brain and as a doctor he couldn't afford to lose competence. He did remember one memorable day however, trying the mixture in a pipe and blowing smoke rings into the air. It had been great fun until he got caught and severely reprimanded, narrowly avoiding a charge. That had nearly been the end of both his medical and army career. It had also been the last time he had smoked.

Shaking his head, he came back and sat down on the couch, shoving the detective's legs out of the way. He sighed. Sherlock had made him a cup of coffee; this meant he was after something. There was even a slice of seed cake that Mrs. Hudson had no doubt baked for him and he had not eaten.

"You have had an argument with your wife - several arguments, and you have had trouble sleeping." Sherlock looked up from his laptop. Two little puffs of smoky vapour escaped his nostrils. He held up his electronic cigarette when he saw the expression on John's face. "I'm trying these instead of nicotine patches" He clarified.

"I've left her," he sighed. "Well, before she actually kicks me out. I've come straight to the dragons` lair so to speak,"

"So I see, and what were you arguing about? Was it me?"

"What do you think? You call me out at all hours of the day or night asking me to come if convenient or if not come anyway! Yes, I love the cases, I love the danger, but it's destroying my marriage. Can't you see that?"

"Don't come then," Sherlock said dismissively "I could have done with you on the last case and you refused to come. I had a difficult time with those short people who asked me to find their special trophy cup. It turned out they had no legal right to it anyway, so I kept it."

"You can't just keep a valuable item like that."

"Well," laughed his friend, "I didn't get on with them, I think they were rather afraid of me."

"Everyone's afraid of you, Sherlock! Except me," John knew that wasn't strictly true. Sherlock did make him wary even after all this time, it wasn't exactly fear, it was that strange sort of fluttery feeling he got when he was with him.

The detective gripped his cup of coffee tightly, and looked mischievously at him "Aren't you?" His eyes suddenly flashed in that moment. He was often quick to anger and John felt a hint of nervousness creep over him.

"She told me not to help you out on another case until we'd worked things out together." John was trying to keep calm. "She said … she said-" He gulped, not knowing if he should reveal this. –"that you'd got your claws into me." There, he thought, I've said it. "What the ... are you growing your nails?" Sherlock's hand cradling his coffee cup looked somewhat talon-like.

"I've bought a new instrument - a guitar -and needed to grow the nails on my left hand for the fingering. What is the matter?"

"You're not joining a band, Sherlock?" He had a sudden vision of a pop concert with Sherlock rocking the room, his hair flying back in the path of a wind machine and his amethyst shirt billowing behind him. His muscular pale chest was exposed to the packed arena as the music blasted out. Then out of the cheering crowd a lone man drew a weapon, took aim and shot him in the heart. John imagined Sherlock falling, fluttering and swooping down from the height of the stage to his death in the mosh. He shuddered. It was too great a risk to take, it could happen, just like St. Bart's, just like before.

John felt the memory tearing him apart. "Fallings just like flying" He murmured softly.

Sherlock leant forwards looking concerned at the last expression he read on his friends face. "John?"

"It's enough to put up with your violin caterwauling and screeching at all hours of the night. I don't want to go though all that with another instrument."

"I'm not joining a band, John, It's a Spanish guitar and as you know Spanish guitars are very soft-sounding and melodic but aside from that" he continued, "you're not here anymore, or at least you weren't." John looked slightly uncomfortable. Sherlock smiled glitteringly. "Ha! So you've left her for good, have you?" John looked down and bit his lip. "Why are you still wearing your wedding ring, then? It can't be precious to you anymore. It's good to have you back, John, it really is. It will be so convenient; to keep you here. Give me the ring and I'll put it in my drawer where I had to put your chequebook and credit cards when you got into that online gambling. For safekeeping of course." He held out his hand.

John moved away from him. "I ... I don't know, this seems so final, Sherlock. Give me time. And anyway"- He raised his chin up defiantly. `

"I'm not giving you my ring."

_With special thanks to Dr. Kitten for editing my story, thanks also for your reviews. (hint?)_


	3. Chapter 3

Dragonlocked 3

thanks eveyone who reviewed, alerted or faved this story ,you are amazing. Thanks for reading ! Thanks as always to Dr. Kitten for your wonderful editing making this story so much better! There may be more..

_No dragon can resist the fascination of riddling talk and of wasting time trying to understand it. _

_The Hobbit_

They were silent for some time. Sherlock got up and brought over a couple of glasses with a nip of brandy in each.

"I think you may need this."

John held the golden liquid to the light, where it shone mellow and warm.

"John Watson at your service," he said, "I'm here for you now."

"You are, but there are no cases at the moment."

John sighed; hoping that was not all Sherlock needed him for. "You need to cut your nails or you'll end up scratching someone."

"Like you for example? It would be handy to scratch your back, if it needed scratching."

"Just cut them." John knocked back the brandy.

Over on the opposite chair, Sherlock's coat and a bejewelled waistcoat had been casually thrown. It was a rich eastern looking garment with diamond patterns, swirls and colourful gemstones sewn in "That's new," said John suspiciously. "Who gave it to you?"

"A gift from a grateful client, John," said Sherlock shrugging off his golden mantle and putting it on. "Do you like it?"

"Bit garish, but it somehow suits you," John said as the colours caught the firelight. It was very warm in the room and John was feeling a bit dizzy after the brandy.

He pulled off his cardigan much too quickly. Some of the brass buttons popped as he yanked the garment over his head and rolled on the floor. Unthinkingly he dived after them, chasing the glinting spheres as they fell away. Sherlock looked down at him scrabbling about. He rose to his full height, towering over him; his cheekbones seemed so sharp they cut the light. His eyes were glowing faintly, reflecting the orange fire. John could do nothing more than wonder at this being and looked up in trepidation. "You really are magnificent," he breathed, feeling rather embarrassed at unwittingly saying that out loud. Suddenly Sherlock laughed uproariously, his lips curling back to reveal his teeth. Then slowly, deliberately, he advanced towards the shorter man. John nervously edged away, his heart beating faster. He saw a talon-like hand extend clutching for him. He backed up against the couch, wondering briefly if he ought to dash behind it himself. Taking a ragged breath he looked up and swallowed. "What are you doing, Sherlock?"

"Just giving the old man a hand up," he laughed. "You are getting on towards 50 you know."

"Not for years!" John retorted, refusing his help. Moving the coat, he got up and sat on his chair.

"So tell me why you have Hamish - not that it's not good to see the little chap again; he is a small version of you."

"Why do you think?"

"You want custody."

"I don't want to lose custody. I'd like Hamish here as much as possible, if we do end up making the split." He sighed. "She says either I stop seeing you or we go our separate ways."

"So, it was a choice for you was it, stay safe with your wife in your little …"

"Hobbit hole?"

"If you must, or come on adventures with me."

"You only have to say it could be dangerous and I just can't resist," mused John.

"It would have been difficult for you to continue your marriage when you are forever at my beck and call. Since I returned, the cases have gradually begun to pick up and each time except the last you came with me."

"I couldn't leave you alone again, but she says she's had enough."

"Understandably, I have not had occasion to thank you for your loyalty before; I do now," Sherlock replied loftily.

"I'm obviously not going to stop seeing you."

"Glad to hear it my dear John."

"I … I can't give you up …"

"Of course not. Say here and give me the ring. "

"I need you."

"I do not comprehend this, you need what I can provide, I am however very glad of your company."

She says I'm … under your spell."

Sherlock looked curiously at him. After a moment he seemed satisfied, sat back and smiled wickedly.

"That's entirely possible, he said.

_I may continue this so any suggestions to hobbit-sherlock comparisons ? _


	4. Chapter 4

Dragon Locked Chapter Four,

Kindly edited by Dr. Kitten.

This was a long time coming and based on your reviews and suggestions.

...

"_You have nice manners for a thief and a liar"_

_Said - The Dragon _

_The Hobbit_

It was the next day and Sherlock was trying to amuse Hamish, while waiting for John, who had gone out to get milk and cereal for the boy. The little bag containing his toys was beside him at the table.

"I've lost my Lego bricks," the little one wailed.

Sherlock tipped the bag out onto the table. A colouring book and a pencil case fell out, along with his copy of The Hobbit book and a toy hedgehog. A half-eaten chocolate bar also fell out that Hamish began to devour ravenously.

"Look," said Sherlock. "I know you haven't had breakfast yet, but I wouldn't eat that thing. Hamish, please stop gobbling it down. Wait for your cereal."

"My cereal can be second breakfast," said the little chap.

Sherlock growled. He took the half-eaten bar off Hamish and threw it away. The boy looked at him with his little blue eyes and started to cry.

"What's the matter Hamish?" Sherlock asked. "You can't really have wanted that bar?"

"Bored!" Hamish sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

_Really children can be so selfish_, Sherlock thought. "You are too small and not clever enough to be bored. You still find toys diverting. Wait till you get to my age!"

_He needs a puzzle to solve,_ Sherlock mused. He began to find himself steadily growing exasperated. What do I should he do with this perfidious little creature?

"It's no use bawling, Hamish, that doesn't solve the problem. You have to apply thought. Now, Can you remember when you saw your Lego last?"

This didn't seem to be working, so Sherlock tried to distract him.

"Look here is a colouring book; it's got some of my favourite characters in it. There's one page here of superheroes. Oh look!" he said sarcastically, "Iron man! He is nearly as clever as me - but not quite as good looking. -or here is another one, I like him too - so why don't you colour Thor in?"

Sherlock thumbed through the pages of mythical heroes, fantasy figures, princesses, dwarves, elves, and monsters.

"Oh! Look, Hamish, there is Loki! He has a blue staff and an oaken shield. Let's colour that brown shall we? Thor has a silver hammer. Hmm…"

He looked at the range of coloured pencils and pens. "Grey can be the silver, it's, darker, more like mithril. Shall we colour him in, as well as Thor in? "

"Dor in?"

"You can't say Thor, can you? Try again: Thor. Which colour do you want to grab, the grey or the brown?"

"Colour Or- in." Hamish tried to pick up a pen, but his chocolate covered fingers slipped on the stump.

"Look at this pen I've found Hamish, it's a `glo-in'-the dark one. Try using that one. It's got a ribbed cover round it so it's easy to grip, very `_touchi-feli_`. That's good; keep the pen on an even keel, eh?"

"Don't want to." Hamish dropped the pen.

Sherlock sighed. This was getting tedious.

"Nor I, let's deduce something about these so called heroes. Are you game?"

Hamish nodded.

"Great, Hamish! Game on! Right … who would win if two of our heroes had a fight? Pick two opponents and observe the build of them. Have you done it? Who did you pick, Hamish?"

"Dose two."

"Those, Hamish? Those two? Snow white and the Elven King? That's easy; the King would win, wouldn't he? Let's return to the characters again and try to pick two equally matched, not women versus men, as they don't fight, do they?"

"Yes."

"Hamish, do your mummy and daddy fight?"

"King would biff ur, boff ur, pow pow!" Little Hamish was moving his arms about. Sherlock picked him up and sat him on his knee to calm him. He was growing a little concerned.

"No, Hamish, ok, let me think of something else. What can you tell me about this superhero?"

Engrossed in pointing out observations in the colouring book, Sherlock didn't hear footsteps coming up the stairs until little Hamish looked up and smiled.

"Door! I … I hear duh door, Serwok!"

Sherlock lifted the boy up as the door began to open, sighing with relief.

"John, you will not believe how hard it is to keep this little one from being bored. I see now what you have to put up with me when I..."

"Mummy!" Hamish cried delightedly.

Sherlock looked towards the door and frowned. This could be awkward. Very Orc wood.

John's wife was standing, framed in the doorway. She was looking tight-lipped at her son being held sitting on Sherlock's lap. She held out her arms to Hamish. Sherlock attempted to cling onto the boy, but he struggled in his grasp.

"Put him down now, Sherlock, I'm warning you!"

Sherlock reluctantly set him down. The boy ran his mother.

"Come on, dawlin!" she said in her slight West Country accent. Hamish took her hand and she turned to go. Sherlock made to stop her. She glared at him. He glared back.

"Look, can't you wait till John returns? We can discuss this ... situation." Sherlock pleaded. He knew John would be angry with him if he let Hamish go now.

"He only wants to look after his son."

"That's why he's gone off and left Hamish with you then? I hardly think that is a good idea. You keep dangerous chemicals and experiments in here. No. If he wants to run off and have adventures and be with you instead of with me, that is what I must accept, but my boy stays safe at home _with me_."

She drew in a breath.

Sherlock waited. _Here it comes_, he thought.

"He can't seem to stop it. You entice him with your `I am on fire` remarks and your intriguing texts, even though he can't be much help to you. He's not a genius like you. You just want him because he adores you and says you're brilliant. You love having your ego stroked, don't you? Well, keep off my husband, will you? Don't pull him from me. Get some other impressionable young man. Look at someone else with those burning eyes and keep off the grass, why don't you?"

Sherlock snorted. "Really?" He asked.

"Just fly off to another mountain somewhere else and leave my man alone!" she shouted.

"You're scaring me mummy!" Hamish cried, digging his head into her waist.

Sherlock was dragging his hands through mahogany curls, trying to think of something to say as the sun emerged from an overcast sky over Baker Street behind him, shimmering round his figure, giving him a halo like some 14th centenary icon.

"You make me sound like some gangly magic spell-caster who is trying to lure your husband away from his home, hearth, and from you for his my own nefarious ends and errands." He sighed. "I am not in love with John, we are simply friends. Love to me is a fly in the ointment, grease in the lens. It's like taking Thor`s hammer to the delicate precision of my brain."

His words seemed to be having some effect on her so he continued.

"He helps on some of the more dangerous cases; he is invaluable to my work and an asset, nothing more. He has saved my life on many occasions and has helped rid London and the world of many dangerous criminals to keep you and Hamish safe. I have no wish to break up your marriage and you should not be so possessive of him. He is dependable, loyal, and therefore precious to us both". He gave her a sincere look.

"I wish I could believe you" she said.

Sherlock was still standing with the sunshine at his back and his hair now gleamed, reddening in the light filtering though the window them. He winked at Hamish.

"Dragons never lie," he said.

There was a sound of someone clearing his throat behind them. John had come up the stairs and was standing in the doorway quietly.

"Daddy!" cried Hamish, wide-eyed, "Sherlock _is _a dragon, he just told us."

John smiled. "I know. I bought something special for you." He reached into his bag and took out a plush toy dragon with little felt scales in green and gold.

Hamish's eyes went wide with delight as he held out examined the toy and then clutched it to his face, holding it close.

"Don't let it leave your side," advised Sherlock.

The boy nodded.

There was no question of that. Just try to take it off him and you would have a screaming child on your hands. It would go everywhere with him: kindergarten, play school, and to bed he would cuddle it every night.

Sherlock looked significantly at his former flat mate and then dragged his eyes over to where the hopeful woman was standing.

"Right," said Sherlock. "Now that's over." He strode towards the little family. "John, why don't you take your lovely wife and child home with you? I will call you again if I absolutely can't do without your help."

She looked up at the detective dubiously, holding Hamish by the hand. Finally she seemed placated, nodded and looked at her husband.

As John leaned over and brushed his lips across onto hers, he glanced sideways at Sherlock, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he sighed and put his arms around his wife and started to lead her back downstairs. Halfway down the seventeen steps he suddenly seemed to remember he'd forgotten something.

"I'll just get Hamish's bags and mine dear. He won't go to sleep without his book and I'll see you down by the car," he called out as he ran back up the stairs.

John furtively re-entered the room.

Sherlock had all the bags gathered on the table. He was looking towards the window but swished round with alacrity and narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of his friend suddenly appearing. John stopped, startled, when he saw the look Sherlock was giving him as he handed the luggage over.

"You're quite used to creeping about, a technique from your army training, no doubt. Must be useful in getting past enemy defenses."

"It got me past yours."

"I was not expecting you to enter the dragon's lair and lay claim to the treasure."

"Well, Hamish was sleeping in my old room and I didn't want to disturb him or he could be up all night and you know that couch gives me a crick in the neck. I was trying to be discreet. What else could I do?"

"Take your bags and go, John."

John picked up the bags thoughtfully. He moved back to the open door and closed it with his foot, dropping the bags to the floor.

"Do you think she bought it?" John asked, turning and looking into green and gold eyes, which flashed hungrily.

"Indubitably," the arrogant ethereal creature replied. "Go now while you are still safe. You stole something very precious to me, something I thought no one would ever take".

"What's that?" asked John, moving nearer - fearless now, it seemed.

Sherlock looked away. "My heart. You stole my heart, little doctor, and it feels like it has been burnt. It feels like the sting of a fiery blade has run past my defenses. I am not used to such emotions, so please go now while you still can." John felt hot breath on his face as he turned his head. He closed his eyes.

He felt he could stay like this forever.

"Sherlock, don't send me back," he murmured.

"No, John, you must go back to your family, who depend on you. By all means write about us in your blog. `An Unexpected Meeting` in Bart's was intriguing. Your accounts of our travels and adventures together, it has helped to build my reputation. Then of course there was my death, the fall, my going away and coming back again. Just don't mention what happened since then. What you stole from me like a thief in the night and how I am dying from this and you are the cause of it.

"What are you dying from, drama queen? What on earth is up with you?"

"Go!" Sherlock roared. The room seemed to heat up several degrees.

"Right," John said, a little alarmed.

He lifted up the bags and made for the stairs, leaving Sherlock in the open doorway.

As he fled down them, he heard the slam of the flat door and stood pausing for a second with indecision. Then he sighed.

His wife was outside by the car. He could see his son. He heard his phone chime with a text.

`_She should not have believed me; does not she know dragons always lie? `_

John chuckled to himself as he fled down the rest of the stairs.

He really was dragon-locked.

The end?

...

I have tried to put in a flavour - by hinting at the dwarves names in the text. Does it work? please review and continue to inspire me, thanks,


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